


To Heal a Broken Bird

by Saltrova



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Escape, F/M, Family, Healing, Home, House Stark, Hurt/Comfort, On the Run, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Sibling Bonding, The North remembers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltrova/pseuds/Saltrova
Summary: Sansa comes to terms with her past after escaping her monster.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa unlocked the door with the stolen corkscrew. Her hands were shaking but failure was not an option. She had to light the candle before Ramsay returned from battle. 

She clutched the candle desperately as she hurried through the halls, her hood pulled high over her head to mask the flaming red of her distinct Tully hair. She didn’t dare exhale until she had finally made it outside onto Winterfell’s bustling courtyard. Bracing her shoulders in determination, she kept her head down and her gaze steady as she traveled at a brisk pace towards the broken tower. 

_Don’t notice me. Don’t notice me_ she silently besought the men and women scurrying about. She felt faint with relief when she made it to the broken tower unhindered. She quickly made her way into the tower and hastily ascended the stairs. 

Sansa had just placed the burning candle on the windowsill when her attention was captured by the scene playing out before her in the snow. She watched in horror as Ramsay’s massive army raced towards Stannis’ smaller one. Stannis didn’t have a chance. He and his men would be slaughtered.

Her heart dropped as she watched one of her only hopes die. Sansa abruptly turned away. _There has to be another way._ She could only hope that her Northern allies that had advised her to light the candle would act quickly. “Please,” she whispered. 

She left the broken tower and quickly retraced her steps, trying to make it back to her chamber before anyone noticed that she was missing. Sansa reached the top of the battlements at record speed, only to make a quick about-face as a guard started in her direction. She hurried down the ramparts, heading away from him. _Almost there._ She chanced a quick look behind her to make sure that she wasn’t being followed, before turning straight ahead and nearly jumping out of her skin.

Myranda and Theon had seemingly materialized out of thin air and were now blocking her path.

“My lady. I’ve come to escort you back to your chamber,” Myranda informed her sweetly, pointing a loaded bow in her face while madness danced gleeful in her eyes.

“Go with her. Please,” Theon spoke up from his meek position beside Myranda.

Sansa stared at him for a moment, before transferring her focus to Myranda. “I know what Ramsay is. I know what he’ll do to me. If am going to die, let it happen while there’s still some of me left.” 

“Die?” Myranda looked puzzled. “But who said anything about dying? You can’t die. Your father was Warden of the North. Ramsay needs you.”

Sansa could feel the terror growing inside of her at the thought of having to spend several more months being subjected to Ramsay’s brutality. Death was better. 

“Though I suppose he doesn’t need all of you,” the kennel master’s daughter continued. “Just the parts he’ll use to make his heir until you’ve given him a boy or two and he’s finished using them. Then he’s got incredible plans for those parts.”

Sansa tried to control her breathing, wondering if she should throw herself from the battlements. Her eyes landed on Theon who was trembling and she swallowed with difficultly. _I can be brave. If death is coming for me then let it happen. I’d rather go by my own hands than Ramsay’s._

“So, should we wait for him to come back or should we begin now?” The look on Myranda’s face was smug as she lifted her bow and arrow.

Sansa held her head high even as she remained silent.

“You’re leaving it to me?” The kennel master’s daughter was thrilled. “Good. Let’s begin.” Myranda drew back her bow.

Quick as lightning, Theon crashed into her, altering the path of the arrow as it was released. The arrow harmlessly connected with the cement wall behind Sansa and she released a breath that she was not aware that she had been holding. 

She stared in shock as Theon threw Myranda over the rampart. A sickening thud sounded a short while later and she rushed over to the edge to stare at the gruesome sight below. Myranda was splattered on the ground, red spreading around her broken body.

Just then a horn sounded and a distant “Open the gates!” reached their ears.

Sansa watched in dismay as returning soldiers rode in through the gates.

“He’s coming back,” Theon informed as her panic filled eyes met his.

Returning to her chamber was not an option. She had to get away!

Theon grabbed her hand and they raced farther up the rampart, not stopping until they reached the front of the battlement. He looked at her and she knew what they must do. Even as her heart stopped she realized that whatever the result it couldn’t be worse than Ramsay getting a hold of her. 

She knew how bizarre it was that she was escaping from Winterfell when she had dreamed of returning here for so many years. But not like this. Not under these conditions. Not while Ramsay Bolton lived here. She would be back she promised herself vehemently. But this time with an army. And she would eradicate the Boltons once and for all. 

Theon and Sansa stepped onto the merlons, looking at each other in confirmation, and drawing strength from the resolution in the others gaze. And then together they jumped.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa wondered if this was what Bran experienced when he fell, as the ground rushed up to meet her much quicker than she would have expected. Only this time the hard ground was buried underneath layers of snow. Her little brother had not been so fortunate. She closed her eyes and braced for impact. It was jolting when it arrived and she felt pain shoot up her body as her teeth rattled. She briefly wondered if she was paralyzed as her head throbbed and she lay immobile, trying to regain her senses.

After a few minutes of shocked silence, she pushed herself into a sitting position, groaning at the effort. “Theon,” she whispered looking around. She saw him lying a few feet away and her heart lurched into her throat as she crawled over to him. “Theon.”

He groaned and rolled over, causing Sansa to sag with relief. “Can you walk?” she asked.

Theon sat up and his eyes looked dazed as they attempted to focus on her.

Sansa made her way shakily to her feet, then held her hand out to him. “Come on. We have to get going,” she said urgently.

Theon struggled up and then took a few steps on unsteady feet. “We can lean on each other until we feel better.”

Theon slung his arm over Sansa’ shoulder so she could help support him as they made their escape. He was half starved and barely had energy. She hoped that he wouldn’t collapse. 

They stumbled along, trying to put as much distance between them and Winterfell, only stopping at the threat of their legs giving out. 

“We will rest here,” Sansa insisted.

Theon was shivering as he looked around. “We’re going to have to find food soon,” he warned. “Or they’ll find us before we can travel far.” 

“We shall find some berries or nuts in the morning then.”

The two snuggled up together, wrapping their arms around one another to retain body heat, and as night fell, they slowly drifted off to sleep. Theon woke once in the night, whimpering and thrashing in his sleep; when Sansa realized what was going on, she gently brushed the hair off his forehead and softly sang a lullaby from her childhood. She sighed when he settled down and fell back into his slumber. Sansa turned her face upwards and stared past the top of the trees to the sky above. Silently she counted the stars until she too drifted off to sleep.

As the first ray of light hit her face, Sansa stirred in her sleep. She wanted to doze a while longer but knew it would not be possible. She slowly sat up, letting out a big yawn and allowing her body a satisfying stretch. She was surprised when she found the space beside her empty. “Theon?” she called nervously. When there wasn’t any reply, she stood up and looking around the nearby trees.

Maybe he’s getting food. Or even bathing in a river nearby. His odor had not been the most pleasant. Sansa worried her bottom lip for a few seconds before deciding that she would go ahead and freshen up while she awaited Theon’s return. 

She was relieved to find him making his way back to her within minutes of her settling back down on the spot they had slept. He was holding some wood in one hand and a rabbit in the other. Sansa’s stomach rumbled, reminding her just how hungry that she was. 

She helped Theon dig a small clearing to start the fire in. They removed as much snow as they could until their fingers felt frozen; then Theon found some stones in the surrounding area to place in the cleared ground before they piled logs on top of it. Once they were done preparing the logs, Theon started a fire. Sansa added some more logs to provide them warmth before she held the rabbit over the fire and started cooking it.

It wasn’t long before the delicious aroma of cooking meat wafted through the air, generating loud protests from both of their empty bellies. As her and Theon shared the fully cooked rabbit, Sansa couldn’t help wondering if this was the first meal that he had tasted in days. The thought pained her.

As soon as they finished eating, they cleansed their hands in melted snow, and scattered the logs and stones, before dumping the snow back into the clearing that they had emptied it out from. Once they had erased evidence of their presence there, Sansa and Theon quickly resumed their trek to The Wall. Suddenly the sound of barking carried through the air and reached their ears. 

Sansa immediately froze, her gaze locking on Theon’s.

His eyes reflected her horror. “Run!” he yelled.

Sansa took off with Theon beside her. She sped through the woods as quickly as her woolen dress would allow. Pure terror cut off her breathing and threatened to suffocate her. She ran until the stitch in her side became unbearable and still she wouldn’t allow her feet to rest. She knew the fate that awaited her if she was returned to Ramsay, and she would do anything to prevent it. 

Things became tricky when they reached a raging river. Sansa halted as she pictured herself getting carried by the tumultuous currents and smashed into huge rocks. “Please,” she heard herself whispering as she backed away.

“We have to cross here,” Theon said, confirming her fears.

Sansa cautiously stepped forward to test the water, lowering one foot into its depths. She instantly recoiled, the piercing cold jolting her body. “I can’t!” she cried.

“It’s the only way to throw off the hounds!” Theon instantly replied.

“But it’s too cold, I can’t.” Hot tears of frustration burned her eyes but Sansa refused to allow them to fall. “I won’t make it. I’ll die,” she finished miserably.

“I’ve seen what his hounds do to a person. This way is better,” Theon convinced.

Sansa knew that he was right, but she was so scared. She stared at the wild currents again and then braced her shoulders, looking at Theon and confirming with her eyes that she was ready.

He grasped her hand and carefully helped her into the frigid water, the baying of the hounds sending wave after wave of fear racing through her body. Sansa could hardly believe it when they made it safely to the other side and climbed out of the river. She had pictured their deaths a thousand times already.

“Hurry,” Theon urged as they took coverage between the trees.

She stumbled along behind him not wanting to slow them down. Her heavy cloak and dress were soaked and their combined weights helped drag her back.

Theon slung his arm around her back, gently embracing her and leading her to a group of low hanging branches with some logs beneath for them to sit on. He looked at her in concern for she had begun to shiver wildly, a glazed look overtaking her eyes. “Sansa,” he whispered, trying to break through her shock.

But she remained oblivious to him, her trembling increasing.

Theon quickly enveloped her in a warm hug, rubbing her back to get some heat back into her body. They both were frozen to the bone. The contact felt good. He almost felt like he had a family again. He closed his eyes and drew comfort from the hug. Their peace was abruptly disturbed when the sound of barking kicked off again. He felt Sansa jerk in his arms and they quickly broke apart. The terror was back in her eyes and her trembling had returned in full force.

Theon stood up determinedly. “Stay here,” he instructed her. “I’ll lure them away.”

“No!” Sansa immediately cried out. “I won’t make it without you.”

“You will,” Theon denied. “Go North. Only North. Jon is Lord Commander at Castle Black. He’ll help you.”

But Sansa was too frightened to believe, and she could only stare as Theon hurried towards the noise. She could hear the Bolton men asking Theon about her whereabouts and him lying to protect her. But they found her anyway. She struggled as they attempted to pull her up, desperate fear making her crazed as she kicked and lashed out. It would be better if the hounds tore her apart right now. Tears streamed down her face. It would be better.


	3. Chapter 3

Suddenly a rider came racing towards the commotion, the figure at first difficult to make out. “It’s a bloody woman,” one of the men suddenly swore in disbelief. The words had barely left his mouth before he was struck off his horse. 

Sansa could hardly believe her eyes as fighting broke out around her; the two new comers engaging in a fierce battle with the Bolton men. She was relieved as the men fell one by one, then nearly swallowed her tongue as Theon ran a sword through the last man.

She gingerly made her way to her feet when the fighting was over, her head reeling over the turn of events. The tall blond giant walked over to her, stopping about a foot away and Sansa realized that she recognized her. Brienne of Tarth.

“Lady Sansa, I offer my services once again,” she stated, kneeling in front of Sansa and laying her sword between them. “I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and New.”

The words seemed to wash over Sansa, bringing a feeling of safety she had not felt in so long. She looked to Theon who was standing next to her. He seemed to agree that she should trust Brienne of Tarth. Sansa turned back to the lady. “And I vow that you should always have a place by my hearth and…” Sansa faltered, trying to remember the long forgotten words.

“Meat and mead at my table,” Brienne of Tarth’s squire provided.

“Meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise,” Sansa finished.

Brienne stood with tears in her eyes and they stared at each other, bound by the oath.

The journey to Castle Black once again resumed, but it was much easier now with the horses to help cover greater distance in a short amount of time. Sansa’s heart soared when Brienne informed her that she had ran into her sister Arya. The shock had nearly been overwhelming for Sansa who for so long had believed that the rest of her family was dead only to learn that not only were her little brothers alive, but her sister too.

She had prayed for Winterfell but when she returned there it had been a nightmare. Sansa now knew that it wasn’t simply Winterfell the castle that her heart had longed for, but home. And home meant family. Without her family at Winterfell, it had felt empty. She made her way over to Theon who seemed lost as he stared into the distance.

He turned at her approach. “We shouldn’t be lighting fires,” was his greeting. “It’s not safe. He won’t stop hunting us.”

Sansa shared his fears but she tried to not dwell on them. “We just have to make it to Castle Black. Once we're with Jon, Ramsay won't be able to touch us,” she insisted.

But Theon didn’t look comforted. “Jon will have me killed the moment I step through the gate,” he stated.

Sansa shook her head in denial. “I won’t let him.” Her voice was fierce. “I will tell him the truth about Bran and Rickon.”

“And the truth about the farm boys I killed in their place. And the truth about Ser Rodrik whom I beheaded. And the truth about Robb whom I betrayed,” Theon mourned, staring at the ground. 

Sansa embraced him, knowing that she couldn’t take away his pain. “Where will you go?” she finally asked. 

“Home,” Theon replied.

She smiled sadly, knowing that in the end that was what they all longed for: home.

Theon had never really known his home. 

She watched as Theon left on one of the horses, her heart aching over yet another loss. She lifted her head, knowing that she had to keep going. She had to get to Jon. Brienne managed to snag two more horses to make up for the lost one while Sansa slept, and in the morning, they carried on.

The nearer they drew to Castle Black, the more anxious Sansa grew. What if they didn’t allow her to stay even though Jon was Lord Commander? Most worrisome of all, what if Jon didn’t want her there? She worried her bottom lip until it bled, her body taut with her insecurities over Jon’s potential reaction to her arrival. 

Sooner than she would have expected, the horses were treading up to the gates of Castle Black. Sansa smoothed her hair back knowing that she looked worse for wear. _That can’t be helped right now,_ she scolded herself, trying to settle her nerves. The horn rang out announcing their arrival and she braced herself.


	4. Chapter 4

They rode into a courtyard full of men, all who paused in their work to stare at the newcomers. Sansa found the attention a little disconcerting and looked around cautiously before dismounting. She wasn't sure who to ask about where she could find Jon but it was vital for her to find him. She was grateful to have Brienne and Podrick by her side to provide support among the sea of strange faces.

As her gaze skimmed the yard full of men once more, her eyes fell on a figure standing on an elevated wooden platform. She knew. Even before she fully recognized him, she knew. Her heart kicked up a ruckus as if trying to escape from her chest and it was all she could do not to faint. But oh how she trembled!

He knew too because he appeared to be frozen as he stared at her; his eyes wide as if he had witnessed the appearance of a ghost.

Perhaps she was frozen too and perhaps they were both staring at ghosts because she was rooted to the very spot where she stood and unable to believe what her eyes were seeing.

He slowly made his way down the steps as if in a trance, drawn towards her by some powerful force.

Her eyes devoured him, drinking in the sight of him until she felt drunk. For so long she had been starved for the presence of her family only to be deprived yet and yet again.

He stopped a few feet shy of her and all they could do was stare, afraid, but aching to hold one another.

Sansa was unable to resist any longer. Jon. She closed the distance between them and flung herself into his arms, realizing that he was trembling just as much as she was.

His hug was crushing but it was the best hug that she had ever felt. She wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed in his scent, desperate to hold on to the moment for as long as possible. But she was fearful that something would go wrong. That somehow he would be ripped away from her because that's just the way her life seemed to go. She shoved the dark thoughts away and savored the feeling of Jon's arms around her. She felt more at home in this moment than she had felt in all of her months in Winterfell while married to Ramsay.

Jon quickly cleared a path for her and ushered her inside, Brienne and Podrick following closely behind. He pulled out a chair for her in front of the fireplace and sent out an order for food to be prepared for her, Brienne, and Podrick along with mugs of ale.

Sansa was grateful for the fire and grew drowsy as she felt the heat warming up her body and chasing out the cold that seemed to have seeped down deep into her bones. She wasn't aware that she had drifted off to sleep until she felt herself being gently shaken awake.

"Your food's here, Sansa. Wake up and eat."

_That voice._ Her eyes popped open to see Jon's face hovering near hers. A huge smile broke across her face as she impulsively hugged him. For a second she feared that everything had been a dream. "Where's Brienne and Podrick?" she asked, looking around.

"They took their meals and drinks and went out. They wanted to give us some privacy," Jon told her.

She nodded. "This is good soup," Sansa complimented after tasting the hot meal. She took another sip as she stared into the fire. "Do you remember those kidney pies that Old Nan used to make?"

"With the beans and onions?" Jon replied, chuckling.

She turned to him smiling. It felt so good to have someone to share her childhood memories with and the happy years at Winterfell. It was better than keeping the memories locked away which she had done for years.

"We never should have left Winterfell," Jon voiced, his face growing serious.

"Don't you wish we could go back to the day we left?" Sansa questioned. "I want to scream at myself, 'don't go you idiot'." She sighed.

"How could we know?" Jon was solemn. But that wasn't unusual.

She was pretty sure Jon was born solemn. He might not have the Stark name but he was pure Stark through and through. As solemn and honorable as Father had been. She stared into her bowl of soup as she remembered how awfully that she had treated him. They had never been close. While all the other Stark siblings had flocked around their half brother and accepted him as one of their own, Sansa had shunned him. A memory rose up unbidden:

_"Poor Jon Snow. He get jealous because he's a bastard," Sansa murmured._

__

_"He's our brother," Arya declared hotly._

__

_"Half brother," Sansa corrected, then she smiled prettily for Septa Mordane who was alerted by her annoying sister's furious outburst. Sansa went back to her stitching, ignoring Arya's fuming glare._

_Poor Arya. She was also jealous because she looked like a Stark with their solemn long faces, rather than a Tully like Sansa, her lady mother, and the rest of her siblings. Not the bastard Jon Snow of course. He looked like a Stark. Sansa didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She supposed it was a good thing that he didn't resemble whoever his mother was._

_What if she was some bog woman? Either way, it was a shame that he looked more Stark than Robb who was their lord father's trueborn heir. Sansa knew how her lady mother fumed over that fact. The baseborn looking more Stark than the trueborn._

Sansa snapped out of her delve into the past, her gaze shooting guiltily to Jon. How awful she had been to him back then. How clueless. She had wanted to be a proper lady and so she imitated her lady mother, embracing what Mother approved and rejecting what she had rebuffed, and oh how she spurned Jon Snow. Mother had hated him, she knew.

Suddenly Sansa's vision blurred as her eyes were flooded by tears. _How can he forgive me for how dreadful I was? I can't even forgive myself._ "I've spent a lot of time thinking about what an ass I was to you," she broached nervously. "I wish I could change everything."

"We were children," Jon immediately dismissed.

He was so forgiving but that just made Sansa more determined. "I was awful just admit it."

Jon chuckled. "You were occasionally awful," he conceded. "I'm sure I couldn't have been great fun always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played."

Sansa turned to him. "Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he answered.

"Forgive me," she insisted.

"Alright. Alright I forgive you," Jon gave in and Sansa giggled.

With the mood lightened, Sansa reached for Jon's ale, wanting to give it a try.

He wore an amused look on his face as he handed it over.

She took a swallow and immediately regretted it as the strong bitter taste overwhelmed her taste bud.

Jon laughed as she made a show of coughing and hastily shoved the mug back to him. "You'd think after thousands of years the Night's Watch would've learned how to make good ale," he stated.

Sansa heartily agreed as she wiped her mouth. She turned to Jon, her expression vulnerable. "Where will you go?"

Jon caught her eyes. "Where will _we_ go," he corrected. "If I don't watch over you Father's ghost will come back and murder me."

Relief flowed through Sansa, making her feel as light as a feather. "Where will _we_ go?" she repeated Jon's words.

"We can't stay here not after what happened," was his reply. He had given her a vague outline of his experience at Castle Black.

"There's only one place we can go," Sansa spoke up. "Home."


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa soaked in the hot bath reflecting on her earlier argument with Jon. After she told him that they should go home he had dismissed her words. He didn’t believe that they could do it. He had replied sarcastically to her suggestions as if she wasn’t aware of the fact that they needed to rally an army first. But she knew how vital it was to take back the North. To destroy the Boltons. The evidence was displayed all over her skin. 

She looked down at her bruised and discolored body, unable to tell which bruises resulted from jumping off the battlements and which ones were gifted by Ramsay. She had avoided looking at her body since the marriage because she didn’t want to deal with the evidence of what he did to it. How he defiled her from the inside out. She shuddered as silent sobs raked her body. Crying and crying until her head was pounding, her throat was raw, and her nose was burning, but she felt much better once she was done.

When she finished bathing and oiling, she slipped into her nightdress and then crawled into bed; falling into an exhausted sleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow.

The next morning she quickly dressed in her chamber, unsure of what the day would bring. She hoped that Jon wasn’t upset with her over their disagreement. But she truly did intend to do everything she could to gather an army on her own if he declined to help. She didn’t want strife between them but the way that she saw it, this matter was completely non-debatable. 

It was too dangerous to back down and be compliant as the Boltons continued to destroy the North because the consequences were too unpredictable. She knew that Ramsay intended to come for her sooner or later and she didn’t have any intention of sitting meekly by and allowing that to happen.

Sansa was aware that Jon would never hand her over, but she also knew that without an army he would be powerless to stop Ramsay if Ramsay was to charge Castle Black with several thousand Bolton men and demand his bride back. Jon’s Night’s Watch brothers might even grab her and hand her over themselves. She had to do everything to change his mind.

Sansa was almost relieved when a letter from Ramsay arrived that morning as they were breaking fast in the Common Hall. It was as if The Seven were helping her along. She would have thanked them if she still prayed. She anxiously waited as Jon read the letter outloud. He had to see now. 

She waited for him to continue after he took a pause in reading, but he just started scrolling the roll back up. Sansa sighed in frustration as she grabbed the scroll from him. Jon was treating her like a delicate thing. She wished that she could tell him that she was not. Her skin had evolved from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. She had escaped her biggest monster and now no one else could hurt her. She wouldn’t let them.

Sansa picked up from where he had left off. “You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spring your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She tonelessly finished reading the letter then set it aside as she looked up at Jon and awaited his response. 

He still put up resistance at the idea of fighting against the Boltons, but she could tell that his resolve was weakening. The letter had provided the fuel that she needed to further her cause, and if she played her cards right she could manipulate Jon into taking the only acceptable course of action.

She grasped his hand fiercely as her eyes drilled into his. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.”

The hall was silent as everyone’s focus turned to Jon who was still struggling to make his decision. Finally his gazed lifted and met Sansa’s. A small nod was all he gave but she knew that she had won. She held back the satisfied smile that threatened to take over her face.

After her victory, she wanted to dedicate more time to bonding with Jon, so she asked him to take her to the top of the wall. He agreed to as soon as she put on warmer clothes, which Sansa quickly complied with before Brienne escorted her back to him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were alight with anticipation. She hadn’t realized how genuinely excited she would be.

Her desire for adventure was greatly questioned when Jon led her into the winch cage which would lift them to the top of the wall. The swaying of the cage made her nervous and she wondered if this idea had been a smart one to pursue so soon after eating.

Jon pointed out the different towers to her as they ascended. The Lord Commander’s tower and the King’s Tower. That’s where Tyrion Lannister had stayed when he visited the wall, he revealed.

Sansa hadn’t even been aware that Tyrion had ever met Jon. How little she knew of her former husband. Soon she caught sight of a little village in the distance. Jon informed her that it was called Mole’s Town. A majority of the village was underground. A network of underground cellars connected by tunnels. It was the only village that she could see anywhere close by.

The cage came to an abrupt halt and then slid sideways, causing Sansa to nearly lose her balance. She squeaked and grabbed at the bars, then shot a glare at Jon who was chuckling at her expense.

He opened the cage door and helped her out onto the ice. “Be careful,” he cautioned. Jon gave a nod to the man operating the winch then led Sansa down the walkway.

It was wider than she would have expected.

“Gravel was freshly scattered over the footpaths so they won’t be slippery, but I don’t want you anywhere near the edge.” He was completely serious.

“I won’t go,” she promised. 

They stopped a few feet away from the northern parapet and Sansa took in what Jon described as the haunted forest spread out below. She would bet that it looked really creepy at night time. It was somewhere in that forest that her Uncle Benjen had gone missing so many years ago. She wondered if his bones were buried somewhere between those dense trees, lost under several years worth of snow.

She stared out at the world below her, marveling at how small and insignificant everything looked from such a height. But looks could be misleading. They stood in companionable silence until Jon noticed her trembling with cold and insisted that it was time to go back inside. Sansa silently agreed.

That night as she lay under the covers, Ramsay’s letter ran through her mind. She wondered if her and Jon would be able to amass an army in time to stop him. Sleep was a battle for her. The letter had triggered a fear in her that she had tried to keep hidden ever since arriving at Castle Black.

When she was on the run, the nightmares had kept at bay, as if knowing she wouldn’t have been able to handle the added stress. And yesterday, sheer exhaustion had allowed her a deep dreamless slumber. Now that she was safely tucked in bed with Jon nearby, the nightmares came flooding in. She couldn’t help the trembling that seized her, or stanch the tears that leaked from her tightly shut eyelids; whimpering and moaning as the demon that she had managed to run away from found her and tortured her in her sleep. And in the end she had to bite her pillow to keep her screams from filling the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the flashback, Sweetrobin is the age that he was in the books (A Feast For Crows). He is 8 and Sansa is 15/16.  
> In the present story Sansa is 17/18 (her age from the show in Season 6).

Sansa dedicated her free time to stitching together a surprise that she was making for Jon. It was a fur cloak fashioned similar to the one their lord father used to wear. It was very important that Jon knew that she saw him as family. As a Stark. And it was very important that the Northerners saw him wearing House Stark sigil. Everyone needed to know that House Stark was not dead. They needed to see that House Stark still lived, and it was reforming from its ashes.

She had spent all morning working on the cloak and it was coming along nicely. Sansa was rather pleased at the result because she _did_ want Jon to like it. Even with all the political symbolism surrounding the fur cloak, deep down she also really wanted to show her appreciation to Jon for taking her in. There was knock on the door. “Yes?” she replied, her focus still on her sewing.

The door opened softly. “For you, m’ lady,” a guard said handing her a rolled letter with an unbroken seal.

Sansa took the letter, her body going cold as she saw the red Mockingbird wax sigil. Hands shaking slightly, she broke the wax, and unrolled the scroll, dreading what it might contain. She quickly skimmed the letter then ordered the guard to send for Lady Brienne.

“At once, m’ lady,” he replied, bowing and taking his leave.

Sansa quickly set the fur cloak aside, too tense to resume her stitching. She estimated Mole’s Town to be about two miles away based on how close it seemed when she had viewed it on her way to the top of the wall. On horseback she would cover that distance in ten minutes or less. Fifteen minutes at most if the horse was to have difficulty in the snow.

Brienne immediately protested when she heard Sansa’s plan to meet Littlefinger as Sansa had known she would. “My lady, he is dangerous and has already put you in danger before. I cannot allow you to go meet him.”

“Brienne. I have to. He is less than two miles from here and it is even more dangerous to have him close by without knowing what he is up to,” Sansa countered. “Please. I won’t be able to sleep at night knowing how close he is.”

Brienne looked down.

Sansa knew that she had put her in a difficult situation but she needed to know why. Why did Petyr give her to the Bolton heir? 

“How do you intend to get past the gates? Your brother would never let you leave,” Brienne reminded her.

“I won’t tell him that I’m meeting Littlefinger. Plus I will take as many guards as needed to make him comfortable,” Sansa retorted.

“He would still want to know why you’re going to Mole’s Town,” Brienne argued.

“Moon tea,” Sansa replied. “Jon will understand.”

Brienne studied her, but remained silent.

Jon’s face went pale when she told him that she was going to Mole’s Town in search of moon tea. Shouldn’t it be easier to send a steward? Jon had asked.

But Sansa had immediately insisted that she didn’t want word spreading. This had to be a secret kept between few.

He finally gave in after laying a kiss on her forehead, a grave expression on his face.

Sansa favored him with a small smile, feeling slightly guilty at her deceit. 

Once on their way, Brienne let Sansa know that she would not be alone in Littlefinger’s presence for one second. Her voice was hushed so the guards in front of them and behind them wouldn’t hear. They reached Moles’ Town quickly and Sansa commanded the guards to stay-put while she entered the shack with the red lantern hung over the door. Littlefinger had described it to her and told her that he would be waiting. She didn’t see any of his men around, so she wondered if they hid below in the underground tunnels, waiting to ambush in a surprise attack if one of her guards threatened his life. Sansa didn’t expect the cold fury that rose up within her when she saw him.

“Sansa,” he greeted. Brienne immediately walked in after her and Littlefinger masked his reaction well. “Lady Brienne,” he said coolly, without missing a beat.

They both ignored his greetings.

“When I heard you’d escaped Winterfell, I feared the worse. You have no idea how happy I am to see you unharmed.”

“Unharmed?” Her voice was like a whip as it cracked through the room.”What are you doing here?”

“I rode North with the Knights of the Vale to come to your aide. They’re encamped at Moat Cailin as we speak,” Littlefinger informed.

“To come to my aide?” Every word that he uttered stroked her fury. “Did you know about Ramsay?” Sansa watched his lips move but she knew that everything he uttered were lies. All lies. Petyr knew everything. That’s why she was willing to depend on him. Because a man who knew everyone’s secrets, a man who was always one step ahead of everyone, a man that used real people as his pawn would be able to keep her safe.

And most importantly, he would never ever ever _accidentally_ make a mistake like that. And that’s why her fury and rage were so great. Because she knew it couldn’t be an accident. He had wanted to hurt her. “What do you think he did to me?” Sansa demanded, cutting off his lies. Even now he attempted to manipulate her. He stared at her and she knew that he searched for her weakness. 

“Lady Sansa asked you a question,” Brienne broke in, hand on her hilt.

“He beat you,” Littlefinger humored.

“Yes, he enjoyed that. What else do you think he did?” Sansa dismissed.

He seemed to lose patience. “Sansa I don — ”

“What else?” she cut him off, refusing to be subjected to anymore of his lies. Her body was starting to faintly tremble from rage.

“Did he cut you?” Littefinger asked.

Sansa stared at him. “Maybe you did know about Ramsay all along.”

“I didn’t know,” he rebutted.

“I thought you knew everyone’s secrets.” Her voice was calm but her eyes were burning. 

“I made a mistake. A horrible mistake. I underestimated a stranger,” Littlefinger stated.

_You knew!_ She wanted to scream at him. _You knew and you lied! And you’re_ still _lying!_ “I can still feel it!” Her voice was vehement as the words conjured up images of the vile things Ramsay had done to her. “I don’t mean in my tender heart it still pains me so. I can still feel what he did in my body standing here right now!” And she could. The bruises and welts from his fists and belts. The scars and the unhealed cuts from his knife and teeth. The torn skin and searing pain from Ramsay forcing his body into her unspeakable places that he left raw.

Sansa was numb when she left Mole’s Town. And empty. The confrontation had not given her the satisfaction that she was craving. More than anything she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep. She avoided Jon when they made it back to Castle Black, and immediately headed to her chamber. She reflected on how Littlefinger had originally wanted to take back Winterfell, as she changed out of her woolen gown and cloak and lay on her bed. In the typical Littlefinger way of scheming, of course someone was going to die. Her little cousin, Sweetrobin. At first Sansa had been willing, naive as she was, as Littlefinger continued scheming to kill her family.

Then one night Sweetrobin had made his way to her chamber, seeking motherly comfort in her bed as he was wont to do since the death of his lady mother. Sweetrobin had hugged her. “You’re the only family I have left,” he murmured drowsily. “You make me feel safe.”

The guilt had nearly suffocated Sansa. Just like her, he had lost his family. They were really all each other had left. Blood of her blood. And yet here she was calmly compliant in his poisoning. Even encouraging it. Her conversation with Maester Coleman played through her head, as if shaming her further.

_“Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble,” Sansa ordered airily._

__

_“Very well...But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer.” ___

____

__

____

_“You had best take that up with the Lord Protector,” she had dismissed snootily._

____

__

____

_Colemon only wanted the best for his charge... but what was best for Robert the boy and what was best for Lord Arryn were not always the same. Petyr had said as much, and it was true. Maester Colemon cares only for the boy, though. [Petyr] and I have larger concerns._

____

Had she not lost enough family that she had been so eager to help send more to the grave? All because Littlefinger had told her that it must be done. But really he had been further isolating her from her family all so she would really and truly have no one but him to rely on as he continued to use her.

____

But after that night she had refused to aide in Sweetrobin’s poisoning. “There has to be another way to get Winterfell back,” she had stubbornly protested. Perhaps that was why Littlefinger sent her to Ramsay. To punish her for interfering with his elaborate plan to kill Sweetrobin and marry her off to Harrold Hardyng after he became Lord of the Vale. She knew in her heart that she was right.

____

There was a weird scratching at the door and Sansa was suddenly frightened. “Jon?” she called out hesitantly. There wasn’t any human reply, just a low insistent howl. Sansa leapt out of the bed, sped across the chamber, and flung the door open, revealing Jon’s massive albino direwolf on the other side. “Ghost!” she cried out, her heart swelling. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, unable to hold back the sobs. She sobbed the stress the day had wrought into his fur until it was damp.

____

Her heart couldn’t help aching for her own wolf. She missed Lady, her sweet, gentle sidekick.

____


	7. Chapter 7

Several days had passed since her visit to Mole’s Town and Sansa, along with Jon, Brienne, Ser Davos, Tormund, Melisandre, and a few other men were spending their few remaining days at Castle Black discussing battle strategies. Everyone had looked at her uneasily when she offered some of the information that Littlefinger revealed to her, such as The Blackfish taking Riverrun and the Vale army being situated at Moat Cailin. After that, Sansa guarded the rest of her knowledge to herself, only revealing things that wouldn’t cause everyone to cross examine her.

She chose the day they were to depart from Castle Black to present Jon with his new fur cloak. Sansa wore a pleasant smile on her face as she approached him.

“New dress?” Jon asked in greeting. 

She looked down at the dress that she had sewn in pride. “I made it myself. Do you like it?”

“Yeah it’s — I like the wolf bit,” he complimented.

Sansa beamed. “Good,” she replied. “Because I made this for you.” She handed the fur cloak over to him.

Jon seemed surprised but pleased as he accepted her gift.

“I made it like the one Father used to wear,” she told him. “As near as I can remember.”

Jon looked at her. “Thank you, Sansa,” he said meaning it.

She smiled at him again. “You’re welcome.” She turned and walked to the horse that she would be riding on. They would be leaving soon and Sansa was eager to get going.

When they rode out through the gates of Castle Black, Jon, Ser Davos, Melisandre, and several guards led the traveling party, while Sansa was in the middle along with Brienne, and Tormund the giant red headed wildling who was awkwardly attempting to flirt. Several guards and wildlings behind them brought up the rear.

Tormund kept flashing hysterically awkward grins at Brienne who continuously turned away from him in disgust, and Sansa was finding it increasingly difficult to hold back her giggles. The two would make a good couple, Sansa thought, but she dared not voice that to Brienne. She was sure the lady would fling her far.

Their first stop would be to recruit some of the wildlings that fled from Hardhome. Sansa was still finding it difficult to process the fact that Old Nan’s stories about the Others were for true.

The Lady Melisandre drew her horse up alongside Sansa’s as they rode. She looked at Brienne pointedly. “I wish to have a private conversation with Lady Sansa.”

Brienne glared at her, but eventually rode her horse a few feet ahead, providing them privacy. 

“That one doesn’t like me,” Melisandre remarked.

Sansa remained quiet, not knowing the back story.

“You have beautiful hair,” the Red Priestess said to her.

“Thank you,” Sansa murmured, not sure where the conversation was heading.

“Your brother is a good man,” the lady tried again.

Sansa wondered if Melisandre had a crush on Jon. She knew that she was a witch who had supposedly brought Jon back after he was betrayed by some of the Night’s Watch men. Sansa turned to her, wondering how to ask. Finally she simply uttered what was on her mind. “Did you truly bring Jon back from…?” Her voice trailed off, not wanting to say the word that her mind was rejecting.

“I did,” Melisandre confirmed.

“How?” Sansa wondered.

“Because the Lord of Light willed it,” was Melisandre’s simple reply.

“If any man in our army shall fall, could you bring him back?” Sansa wanted to know.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works.” There was a smile on the Red Priestess’ face.

“Oh,” Sansa said looking down.

When Melisandre departed from her, Brienne returned to her side. “I don’t trust that woman at all,” she declared distastefully.

Not sure if Brienne could take on a witch, Sansa decided to change the subject. “Will you be okay heading to Riverrun with just Podrick?” Sansa had assigned Brienne on a mission to personally meet with the Blackfish and rally his support in the fight against the Boltons.

“My lady, Podrick and I will be fine. We have been traveling on our own since leaving Kingslanding. I assure you there isn’t cause for concern,” Brienne reassured her.

Sansa nodded. She knew the blond giant could take care of herself, but she was loath to part ways with her.

She dreaded when the moment arrived for Brienne and Podrick to take their leave and commence their separate journey to Riverrun. Sansa took her time saying farewell to the two, as she swallowed back the lump in her throat. She had grown close to them since they saved her from the Bolton men, and she felt the loss of her blond traveling companion as her journey with Jon, his men, and the wildlings resumed in silence.

As they traveled farther through the snowy woods, she marveled at how this peaceful expedition to rally forces was strikingly different from her own terror filled voyage to Castle Black. Reflecting on her previous journey consequently turned Sansa’s mind to Theon. _I hope that he made it back to the Iron Islands safely. I hope that he found some peace. And for Brienne and Podrick, I wish for them to have a safe journey and to make a swift return._

They stopped to rest for the night as the sky darkened. The men quickly built a large fire to provide light and warmth as they set up tents, and tended to the horses. The stored food was distributed among the campers, and Sansa made her way to where Jon sat close to the fire. A lone wolf’s howl was heard in the distance as she sat and Sansa wondered if it was Ghost.

Although Ghost was traveling with them, he was wont to run off for long stretches at a time. Answering howls pierced the night twice as loud and Sansa held back a shiver as she edged closer to the fire.

“We’re definitely in the wolfswood,” Jon remarked.

Sansa wondered if that was approval that she heard in his voice.

“What if our food runs out?” she worried out loud.

“With Ghost along, hunting prey should be easier,” Jon said.

“But he runs off more than he stays,” Sansa pointed out.

“He’ll know.” Jon sounded assured.

After filling their stomachs, sharing ale, and telling jokes and stories around the fire, they cleaned up and retired to their shelters for the night.

Camped outside in the middle of the night, lying alone in her tent, Sansa felt isolated from the other campers and wished that Brienne was by her side to provide comfort. She knew it was unlikely that Bolton men would suddenly come across them, but she feared it anyway. Anything seemed possible while vulnerable in the dark. Would it be appropriate to go to Jon’s tent? she suddenly wondered, unsure. Sansa sat up. Propriety seemed to matter less and less in the dark with strange creatures all around. She could only hope that the guards who were on night duty were taking their watch very seriously.

Sansa exited out of her guarded tent. “I’m going to my brother,” she informed the guard before quickly hurrying to Jon’s tent.

The guard there blocked her way when he saw her approaching, before moving aside as he realized who it was.

“Jon,” Sansa alerted him to her presence before entering the tent.

He sat up from his makeshift bed. “What is it? What’s the matter, Sansa?” he asked concerned.

Sansa worried her bottom lip, not wanting to appear weak. “I can’t sleep,” she admitted. “I know it’s silly because I managed before with Theon and then Brienne and Podrick… but without the adrenaline pushing me on, I am aware of every little sound and they all seem terrifying in the darkness.”

“That’s okay,” Jon reassured her. “Come here. You can share my bed. If it can even pass as a bed.”

His grin had Sansa fighting back a replying one of her own. She thankfully squeezed in beside him, and attempted to drift off to sleep. Unfortunately sleep still seemed to elude her but at least the fear was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled so much with this chapter that I nearly ended the story at chapter 6 :/


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thousand years ago Sansa once knew a little wolf girl just as ferocious.

They reached Bear Island on the twenty fifth day much to the relief of everyone. They were ushered into a hall constructed out of logs. The walls itself were palisade made from the very earth.

House Mormont was a poorer house, Sansa realized. It was located on a remote isle that didn’t have any valuable resources to offer. She doubted the number of fighting men they would be able to get from here, if any.  


“Welcome to Bear Island,” rang out the tiny voice that greeted them. And thus, the real work began. Lyanna Mormont was a fierce child that lived up to the bear sigil of House Mormont. Sweet talking her was not an option, they soon discovered to their chagrin. “I think we’ve had enough small talk,” the she-bear snapped. “Why are you here?”  


“Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed. He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men. It said — ” Jon began.

“I remember what it said,” Lyanna cut off. “Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK.” The emphasis on Stark was not missed. It was clear that Lyanna considered neither Jon nor Sansa to be a Stark and she didn’t hide behind pleasantries as she made her opinion known.

“Robb is gone. But House Stark is not. And it needs your support now more than ever,” Jon pleaded. “I’ve come with my sister to ask for House Mormont’s allegiance.”

Lyanna briefly counseled with the maester in hushed tones before returning focus to her audience. “As far as I understand, you’re a Snow. And Lady Sansa is a Bolton… or is she a Lannister? I’ve heard conflicting reports."

Each word felt like a weight crushing Sansa’s hopes. “I did what I had to do to survive, my lady. I am a Stark. I will _always_ be a Stark.” Sansa lifted her head high, drawing strength from the fact that she was a Stark.

“If you say so,” was the dismissive reply that Lyanna offered.

 _Was this journey a waste?_ Sansa wondered, frustrated. If there wasn’t any hope to have House Mormont fight with them, then it was better to cut their losses and leave. They needed to resume their journey to rally the other Northern houses. Surely others will say yes. Surely The North Remembered.  


The Northerners were loyal, Father had said it loud and often.

_If Father said it, then it must be true._  


Just then, Ser Davos the Onion Knight spoke up from his place beside Jon.

Sansa didn’t have much of an opinion about him, but she knew that he was a good talker.

“If you please, my lady, I understand how you feel,” he was now saying.

The little bear temporarily retracted her claws, a confused expression on her face. “I don’t know you. Ser…?”

“Davos, my lady. Of House Seaworth,” the Onion Knight immediately supplied. Lyanna turned to counsel with the maester, but Ser Davos halted her. “You needn’t ask your maester about my house. It’s rather new.”  


“Alright, Ser Davos of House Seaworth. How is it you understand how I feel?”

This was the first time the little lady had shown any interest in what any of them had to say, and Sansa turned to Ser Davos, her interest also piqued. She had a vague idea of what he might say since they had discussed how to plead their case beforehand. Ser Davos was to be their last shot if all else failed.  


Apparently all else had failed.  


“You never thought you’d find yourself in your position. Being responsible for so many lives at such a young age. I never thought I’d find myself in my position. I was a crabber’s son. Then I was a smuggler. And now I find myself addressing the lady of a great house in time of war.”  


Sansa listened to Ser Davos speak, entranced as he spoke of the army of the dead.  


Jon backed his claim. He had witnessed the rise of the Others and their army. Fought them with his very hands.  


There was a disquiet in the room after that statement. Nervous coughs and flickering eyes.  


Finally Lyanna voiced her judgment. “House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years. We will not break faith today.”  


Sighs of relief were heard throughout the room, only to be awkwardly cut off at the announcement that only sixty-two Mormont men would be provided to join their fight.  


“Sixty-two?” Jon repeated in disbelief.

Sansa couldn’t say that she was surprised at the number.  


“We’re not a large house, but we’re a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders!” the she-bear declared.  


“If they’re half as ferocious as their lady, the Boltons are doomed,” Ser Davos acknowledged, tipping his head in admiration.

There was a ghost of a smile on Lyanna's lips as she returned his nod. “We will temporarily put away talks of war and take time to fill our bellies. I offer you guest right with bread and salt. You must be weary,” she stated, transforming into a courteous hostess.  


Sansa found herself developing a grudging respect. The little bear was Northern born and bred. As ferocious as they came. A thousand years ago Sansa once knew a little wolf girl just as ferocious. Tangled hair, skinned knees and torn clothes. A scowl as fierce as any bear and a jutting chin that dared anyone and anything.  


_Arya would have liked her._ She felt sadness at the thought of her young sister out there somewhere. Arya was lost. Rickon was a prisoner of Ramsay, and Bran was beyond the wall. _I have four living siblings and only one is with me._ The thought of it all made her feel as if she was drowning.

She could only hope that after Winterfell was taken back from the Boltons, that Arya and Bran would find their way home. _Would they know?_ A small voice in her head whispered. _They will_ she answered it fervently. She turned her mind back to her plans of defeating the Boltons with renewed vigor.

As they feasted, Jon showed Lyanna Longclaw, which had been the ancestral weapon of her family until Jeor Mormont who became the Lord Commander of The Night’s Watch gifted it to him.

If Lyanna agreed or disagreed with her uncle’s choice, she did not say.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun was rising in the sky as Sansa crept out of her room, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet. The Keep was silent, the other occupants most likely still caught in the embrace of sleep. She was lucky to have found the opportunity to steal some time for herself. The idea of fresh air was appealing to her, so she quietly made her way down the steps, to the longhall, before silently slipping out of the doors. It was strange that there wasn’t a soul in sight. The air was cool and breezy, courtesy of Mormont Keep being located in the middle of the sea. 

Sansa wondered if she would spot any of the bears that Bear Island was named for. Perhaps not so close to the Keep. Madness in her head, she wandered towards the forest. She walked deeper and deeper stepping over twisted roots and gnarled trees, until she was lost in the unfamiliar land, but she found herself unable to turn back.

Suddenly a movement out of the corner of her eyes caused her breath to catch. Sansa spun around, her heart beating wildly. “Who goes there?” she demanded. “Show yourself!” 

When her command was answered, she wished that it hadn’t been. Bolton men. Dozens upon dozens. They stepped out from behind the trees until it seemed that the whole forest was infested with them.

Sansa was nearly mad with fear. They would overpower the Keep. They would steal her away and slaughter everyone! The scream tore from her lungs as she ran back in the direction that she had come from. She hadn’t gone far before they seized her. But she clawed at them, while she kicked and screamed with all of her might. The forest seemed to swallow her screams and render them useless, but that only made her scream louder.

Suddenly she felt herself being shaken fiercely. She wondered if one of the men had grabbed her and was shaking her to cease her screaming, but when she tried to jerk away she realized that no one was holding her. She tried to run but the quivering had worsened. The very earth was trembling beneath her feet! Sansa let out another shriek of terror as she tried to withstand the quaking and run. _Is Jon okay?_ She wondered desperately. _Does he know there’s an earthquake?_ As if her mind had conjured him up, she saw a figure lying a few feet ahead of her. 

Jon! she thought, and her heart lurched. Had he come looking for her? The ground was vibrating terribly but she had to get to him. She attempted to run over to where he lay, falling twice and struggling back to her feet until she reached his side. She shook him frantically, only ceasing when his eyes opened. Sansa tried to scream at him to get up and run but she was mute. So she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. But when he rose his face seemed to transform in front of her eyes. Familiar grey irises turned to a piercing pale blue that held the promise of pain and suddenly Sansa was screaming and falling as the earth spun out of control.

“My lady!” she heard, and her eyes popped open, just as the hand that was shaking her retreated. Sansa realized that she lay in bed, drenched in cold sweat, her body still fighting off trembles.

“My lady, are you alright?” Concerned faces were hovering over her. “You were screaming and flailing in your sleep. It took a while to wake you.”

“Where’s Jon?” she cried out, still delirious from sleep, and panicked from her night terror.

“He’s asleep, my lady.”

Sansa sighed and took a few calming breaths as she sank back into the pillows. She doubted sleep would visit her again tonight. After feigning sleep for a few minutes, the gathering in her room slowly dispersed until she was left alone once again to face her monster. She tried to keep her eyes open as long as possible until sleep finally claimed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little Lyanna was enamored with Jon. Sansa noticed that as soon as she made her way into the hall to break her fast the following morning. Once she moved past her suspicions of the newcomers, the little lady immediately warmed up to Jon and took his word for truth. Sansa also noted that she was late, as everyone else was already gathered and eating heartily. But that was to be expected after her night terrors. It had taken her a while to fall back to sleep and Sansa had even considered eating in her chamber but had dismissed the idea. She didn't want the Mormonts to think that she found their company anything less than pleasant.

“Jon Snow will win back Winterfell from the filthy Boltons. He will crush them like ants and he will rule the North fair and just,” Lyanna Mormont declared to everyone gathered at the table.

Sansa raised an amused eyebrow but she remained silent.

“My men have been rallied. They are prepared from their extensive training. With Mormont men on your side, the battle shall be won. Fear not,” Lyanna later reassured everyone as the men engaged in sparring in the training yard, expertly wielding their tourney swords. She took her position as Lady of Bear Island very seriously, and often had a practice sword in hand as she sparred enthusiastically with her men to provide them encouragement. 

The little bear was bound to be a warrior, Sansa could see. It was in her blood. The Mormonts had been fierce and proud warriors sworn to the Starks for a thousand years. As she watched the enthusiastic sparring in front of her, her mind saw a little girl with a long solemn face, her chin jutted out in determination. And when she turned, her eyes were the dark grey of the Starks. Like Father’s and Jon’s.

Sansa shook her head to clear it, and when she looked again, it was just Lyanna sparring with her men.

They resumed their traveling two days later, and although it had been nice to take a break from the elements and have access to a proper bath and bed for a few days, Sansa was immensely grateful to be back on track. She doubted that Ramsay was sitting idly around. His toys had been taken away and he would do anything to get them back.

With the close proximity of Deepwood Motte to Bear Island, they arrived at their destination within ten days. Deepwood Motte was the ancestral home of House Glover, ruled by its current lord, Robett Glover. Lord Glover held audience with them a few feet away from the gates. The fact that he hadn’t invited them in was discouraging. Their attempt to parley fell on deaf ears once Lord Glover realized that the majority of their fighting men would be made up of wildlings. He instantly dismissed them, regardless of Jon’s pleas to reconsider, and walked back to his castle.

Sansa immediately heard her own voice ringing out, “I would remind you that House Glover is pledged to House Stark. Sworn to answer when called upon!” Her voice was sharp and the air itself seemed to inhale as everyone froze around her.

Lord Glover turned around and made his way back down the steps.

Sansa lifted her head high as he advanced towards her, refusing to back down or retract her words.

He stopped directly in front of her, his proximity unnerving, but she held her ground, maintaining eye contact as his eyes bore into hers. “Yes, my family served House Stark for centuries. We _wept_ when we heard of your father’s death. When my brother was lord of this castle he answered Robb’s call and hailed him ‘King in the North!’” Lord Glover took a step closer, forcing her to acknowledge his words and his pain. “And where was King Robb when the Ironborn attacked this castle? When they threw my wife and children in prison? And brutalized and killed our subjects? Taking up with a foreign whore, getting himself and those who followed him killed.”

The Lord of Deepwood Motte stepped back, his gaze raking over both siblings. “I served House Stark once… but House Stark is dead.”

Sansa felt the weight of the rejection settle into her as he turned away and returned to his castle.

The door of the Deepwood Motte slammed shut behind Lord Glover’s back and the loud clang rang through the air as if drilling the finality of his decision into her head.

_The North Remembers._

Father was right. And yet he couldn't have foretold what the North would be forced to endure. And what the North would be forced to remember.


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa stared down at the Stark sigil drying on the letter. Her insides were wrought with turmoil and nerves. And nausea threatened to erupt in a cascade of chucked up food. But despite it all, she refused to allow guilt to rise to the surface. Writing this letter was absolutely essential for them to survive. 

Their attempt to rally Northern houses had not gone as well as they had imagined it would. Although they had the Mazins, the Hornwoods and the Mormonts on their side, major Northern houses had turned them down, such as the Glovers, the Manderlys, House Cerwyn. Plus there was the problem of the traitorous Karstarks and Umbers. It all boiled down to them having a shortage of men. They had half of Ramsay’s number which would not do at all. 

Sansa wasn’t sure if Littlefinger would reply, but she was banking on his need to have her rely on him. Rescuing her would fuel the hero complex that he thrived on when he was around her. She hurried out of her tent, walking briskly to where the ravens were kept. As the raven set off with her scroll attached to its leg, all Sansa could do was hold on to that bit of hope that refused to die. It was humiliating to have to rely on Littlefinger again, but she couldn’t dwell on it. Not when all of their lives depended on him rallying to her side with the Knights of the Vale.

Jon mustn’t know. Of that much she was sure of. He couldn’t plan his battle strategy around a wild card that might or might not come through. If he relied on the Knights of the Vale and Littlefinger failed them, the consequences would be catastrophic. Sansa was convinced that a surprise ambush was the best way to utilize this possible wild card. That way Ramsay couldn’t be tipped off and their chances of failure would be dramatically decreased.

She was aware that a great number of men would die before the Vale army arrived, and she mourned their impending deaths just as she mourned Rickon’s. But she knew that this was a sacrifice that had to be made because if they failed, the North would bleed. Ramsay wouldn’t only punish her, he would punish _everyone._

To keep her mind calm, Sansa busied herself by helping to skin some of the prey that were caught. When the blade accidentally cut her finger, she barely flinched, simply holding up the injured finger and staring at it as the blood welled and oozed. A vacant look had overtaken her eyes as if her mind was somewhere far away; lost in another time. And when she returned to her surroundings, Sansa realized to her surprise, that her finger was being treated and wrapped. She turned her head slightly, to find Jon’s eyes on her, an unsettled look on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Jon kept asking her if she would rather stay at base while he went to meet with Ramsay pre-battle. She turned him down. When they reached the open fields, Ramsay and his men were small specks in the horizon that increased in size the closer their horses rode, both sides riding forward to close the gap between them.

Jon turned to her again when they stopped at the neutral half way mark, waiting for Ramsay and his men to reach them and halt. “You don’t have to be here,” he told her 

“Yes I do,” Sansa confirmed. She turned her attention forward, steeling herself as _he_ drew up and stopped a mere few feet away. The memories threatened to overwhelm her as her insides suddenly felt cold. He was staring at her and she hoped that her body wouldn’t betray the faintness that was creeping up or the slight trembling hidden beneath her heavy dress. She took a few calming breaths, her eyes growing frigid as a smirk broke across his face.

“My beloved wife. I’ve missed you terribly,” he greeted, his voice pleasant, his eyes cold and taunting.

Sansa felt a chill, but Jon moved his horse closer to hers, offering silent support. She braced her shoulders and held her head high and regal as she studied Ramsay in a dispassionate manner. The longer he spoke, the more a cold, detached, calmness spread throughout her body. She stared at him and all she could picture was his death. She listened as he taunted Jon, observing calmly as if witnessing the scene from a great distance. She unhurriedly skimmed her gaze over Ramsay’s men, making sure that she saved a scathing look for the traitorous Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark.

Her attention snapped to Jon when she heard him challenge Ramsay to a one on one. _Foolish Jon. You search for honor where there’s none._

Ramsay was too confident for her liking, but she supposed that his smugness was a good sign for her. He didn’t suspect anything amiss or any possible tricks up their sleeve. If Littlefinger backed her with the Vale army, the ambush of Ramsay’s forces would be spectacular. Sansa masked her smirk and barely contained the urge to roll her eyes when Ramsay threatened them with Rickon. As if she actually believed Rickon would live past this battle _if_ he wasn’t already dead. “How do we know you have him?” she humored. She stared back at Ramsay as his icy blues locked on hers. 

She could see the fury in his eyes although his expression remained nonchalant. He turned and gave a nodding signal to one of his men and a few short second later, the severed head of a direwolf landed between the two opposing sides. Sansa’s breath caught as she stared at Shaggydog’s head. She hadn’t doubted Rickon’s imprisonment, but it hurt to witness the fate of his fierce, proud direwolf. She only hoped that Shaggydog was reunited with Lady wherever they may be. 

“Now if you want to save your — ” Ramsay began, believing that his little action had granted him leverage.

Sansa quickly cut him off, getting satisfaction from the shocked widening of his eyes.  


“You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton,” she promised. “Sleep well.” She turned and rode off, the wind hitting her face as she raced back to base, trying to put as much distance between her and him as possible. She stopped at the river near the tents and took a dip, wanting to cleanse the soiled feeling that Ramsay’s presence arose. Alone in the river, the tears ran unchecked down her face. She really couldn’t say why she was crying. The emotions that whirled within her were too great in number to attempt to analyze. 

The reckoning was here. Tomorrow would alter her future. Would she lose the only family figure that she currently had? Or would she be able to take back Winterfell and keep Jon too? The uncertainty frightened her but she was powerless to change it. 

Sansa was back in her tent when Jon and the few lords that had accompanied him arrived, along with Lyanna Mormont. She wanted to ask him what was said after she rode off, but decided against it. 

Soon after the men returned, they feasted on seasoned squirrel stew. With an impending battle on the morrow, there was an energy around the fire that was unmatched by any previous occasions. After feasting, Jon retreated into his camp with Ser Davos and Tormund to rehash their battle strategy.

Sansa stood in the corner of the tent silently wondering how they could be so daft and ignorant of their opponent. They plotted to approach Ramsay as if he was a reasonable person. He wasn’t. He was a mad dog who would fight dirty. She let Jon know her opinion as soon as the others had cleared the tent, and instead of heeding her advice, he immediately became defensive. “Aye, that’s good advice,” he mocked after she warned him against playing into Ramsay’s trap. “You think that’s obvious?” she snapped.

“Well it is a bit obvious,” Jon said.

Which only sparked Sansa’s anger more.

“Battles have been won against greater odds,” Jon finally stated.

Sansa turned and started to leave, knowing that she had made the right choice in contacting Littlefinger. She paused, as she turned back to Jon. “If Ramsay wins...I’m not going back there alive.” She stared at him, letting her words sink in.

“I won’t ever let him touch you again,” Jon swore. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

But Sansa had heard enough empty promises in her lifetime. “No one can protect me,” she retorted. “No one can protect anyone.”

She spent the night turning and tossing about, unable to settle her mind. And when morning came, there was a soreness in her lower belly and a stickiness between her legs. Her moonblood had arrived. Isn’t it fitting that on the morning of another great battle that governed her life she would bleed from the safety of her tent while the men bled on the battlefield. Just like the night of the Battle of Blackwater Bay. 

Sansa quickly cleansed herself and inserted a thick cloth into her smallclothes before dressing and hurrying outside. But Jon and his forces had already ridden out while she slept and she worried her bottom lip, wondering when Littlefinger would arrive.

“Are you worried?” a voice questioned.

Sansa turned to see Lyanna Mormont standing next to her. “A little,” she admitted.

Lyanna nodded. “So am I. But we will win. I just wonder how many men we will lose in the process.”

Sansa didn’t have a suitable reply.

“When the battle’s won, I will reward all of my men with new armors for their bravery and courage,” Lyanna told her.

“I will make sure that your men are adequately rewarded for their loyalty,” Sansa promised. 

“We serve the Starks and will always serve the Starks,” was Lyanna’s reply.

Sansa smiled, warming up to the little fierce soul beside her.

“Does Ramsay really have Lord Stark?” Lyanna asked.

Sansa sobered. “Yes, he has my brother...Rickon will not live past today.”

Lyanna’s eyes were filled with more knowledge than a child should know about how it felt to lose her family. She placed a comforting hand on Sansa’s forearm. “The Boltons will pay.”

A guard walked up to Sansa a while later when she was alone and handed her a sealed letter. She anxiously grabbed it, knowing who it was from and retreated into her tent. She opened the letter with shaking hands and quickly skimmed it before exhaling in a great whoosh. Littlefinger had told her where to meet him, and with the activity about the camp, it would be easy to slip away.

Sansa quickly went to where her horse was kept, quickly readying him. “I am going for a ride to clear my head. I need some solitude as I seek solace during this battle,” she told the guards. She quickly took off, riding swiftly to where Littlefinger had written for her to meet him. 

The spot was empty when she dismounted, but she knew that someone was watching her from a hidden place, making sure that she arrived alone. Sansa huffed and crossed her arms impatiently. 

“Don’t be impatient, sweetling.”

She heard him before she saw him. Her face was impassive as he walked into view. “Where’s the army?” she asked suspiciously. 

“They are stationed close by, Sansa. I wouldn’t fail you,” he replied, stepping close to her.

She decided not to reply to his statement. “When can we go?” she questioned.

“In due time. It wouldn’t do to risk the Vale army before Ramsay’s forces are weakened,” he reminded her.

“I don’t want Jon to get hurt,” Sansa admitted.

“He may be dead already. As brave as he is, charging foolishly into battle,” Littlefinger replied.

“Stop it!” Sansa snapped.

He gave her a slight bow, a smile playing on his lips. “Come, my dear. Let me take your mind off of battle for a few minutes.”

She followed him as he steered her deeper into the wolfswood.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa knew that her decision to stay quiet had doomed thousands of men. She could only hope that Jon wasn’t one of them. She urged her horse to go faster as her and Littlefinger rode towards the battle with the Vale of Arryn. When they reached the battlefield, her heart was racing. From her safe distance, she couldn’t make out the figures on the battlefield. But she still strained her eyes, searching for a sign that Jon was okay. 

Sansa watched in satisfaction as the Vale army charged in and knocked down a circular formation of men with the Bolton colors on their shields. A smirked formed on her face as she pictured Ramsay’s shock. If only she was close enough to witness it in person. As the Vale army wrought havoc on the Bolton forces, she saw a figure riding away in the distance, racing back towards Winterfell. The figure was only a speck in her vision, but she knew it was Ramsay.

Ramsay realized that he had lost the fight on the battlefield and would most likely resort to a siege.

Sansa’s heart fluttered in panic at the thought. Then her eyes were drawn to the towering figure of Wun Wun the giant dwarfing the other figures on the battlefield. He started racing towards Winterfell with two smaller figures at his side. And Sansa’s heart soared because it knew deep down that one of the figures was Jon.

The desire to race after him was strong, but she resisted the urge. She would only put him in danger if she distracted him. Time seemed to drag slowly as she waited on her horse, allowing Jon the time that he needed to hopefully defeat Ramsay. When an appropriate amount of time had elapsed, Sansa took off on her horse, charging towards Winterfell.

The sight that met her nearly left her weeping. A bloodied Ramsay lay defenseless on the ground as Jon rained blows down on his face. Nothing had ever looked more beautiful to Sansa. Still, each blow although satisfying, didn’t come close to making up for Ramsay’s mountain of crimes. It didn’t erase his abuse of her, his abuse of Theon, his murder of her Northern friends, his terrorizing of the North and especially his murder of Rickon. There was so much for him to pay for and Sansa was so willing to make him pay. 

Jon looked up, his rage freezing on his face as he became aware of her presence. He glanced down at Ramsay then back up at her before getting to his feet and walking away.

Sansa would be the one to end Ramsay’s life, but first there were other matters to attend to. Rickon had to be prepared for burial in the crypts, Winterfell needed to be immediately cleansed of all evidence of the Bolton’s infestation. Every Bolton flag and anything with its vile sigil needed to be burned. That nightmare chamber needed to be torn apart and then completely rebuilt. Sansa’s mind was buzzing with the first course of action to take as she took off at a brisk, purposeful stride.

She found some guards to go collect her brother’s body from the field. As the men hurried off to do so, Sansa searched out Melisandre and requested for her to prepare Rickon’s body for burial. To Sansa’s relief, the Red Woman agreed and Sansa thanked her before taking a deep breath and entering the castle. She made quick work of rounding up the household and instructing them to strip the Castle and pile any Bolton related objects, material, or furniture in a pile to be dealt with.

Sansa then found servants to deal with the chamber where she had been imprisoned during those horrific months. _Burn it,_ she wanted to say. _Burn it all._ But she settled on having everything in the chamber thrown out and the wall torn down. It would be reconstructed into an entirely different chamber. Once finished issuing those orders, Sansa hurried back outside to deal with Ramsay. He wasn’t lying on the spot that Jon had left him so she went to find Jon. 

Rickon’s body was carried in through the gatehouse just as she reached Jon. Sansa might have wept, but there was a numbness spreading through her that prevented her from weeping. The numbness blocked the pain, reducing it to little more than a dull throb as she took in the sight of the boy that she barely knew lying broken on the stretcher. She quickly averted her eyes and looked to Jon. _Rickon was doomed as soon as Ramsay got a hold of him. He couldn’t have been saved,_ she wanted to tell him.

“Jon,” Sansa said, as Jon started to walk away.

He stopped and turned to her, his eyes haunted.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

Jon sighed. “I ordered for him to be placed in the dog kennel with his hounds. He boasted to us that he hadn’t fed them in seven days because he wanted them to be ravenous. I figured that it’s only right if he is their first meal.”

Sansa nodded satisfied. “Good.” Was her ominous reply. She turned without another word and headed towards the kennels. That curious, cold calm took over her body again as she stared at the bloodied man in front of her who had haunted her every waking moment and caused nightmares in her sleep. There was a sort of peace as she realized that he would never ever ever hurt her again. No longer would she have the lingering fear in the back of her mind that she would end up back in his hands to endure his merciless torture until he broke her. She was really and truly free. 

As if sensing another presence, his head lifted and his eyes met hers. “Sansa,” he greeted. “Hello, Sansa.”

She stayed quiet as he continued to speak, reveling in the fact that she was now the one with the power.

“I’m part of you now.” His confident statement tainted the air.

Every fiber of her being rejected that statement. 

“Your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear.” Sansa let her words fill the kennel and then sink in before she let out a low whistle, as her eyes remained on him, piercing into him. 

The growls of hungry hounds soon filled the kennel as they stepped out of their cages, alerted by the sound of her whistle. The smell of the blood that Ramsay was caked in, called to them, increasing their hunger and bloodlust.

“My hounds will never harm me.” He was still overly confident. 

“You haven’t fed them in seven days. You said it yourself,” Sansa replied dispassionately.

“They’re loyal beasts,” Ramsay maintained. But the growls and crowding of the hounds were starting to affect him.

She watched as he swallowed nervously. “They were,” she allowed. “Now they’re starving.”

The hounds attacked, as if to prove her words and his panicked commands rose in volume. The beasts failed to heed him and the commands soon turned to screams.

Sansa turned away as the hounds devoured their master who had taught them to love the taste of human flesh. 

This was a victory for House Stark. But so much had been lost to the Boltons before the victory was won. Her last shred of innocence. Her home. Her brothers. 

_In life, the monsters win...But not this time._

_Not this time,_ she realized, as a ghost of a smile played across her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might revisit this story once season 7 airs. That Jon/Littlefinger scene certainly calls to me.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite Sansa videos. I was thinking about it while I wrote this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37ET-_abqJA


End file.
